[MiSTing] Moby Dick 3/3: Chapter I, Loomings [Era: CHASE] [PRO]
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[Commercials end]
[SoL Bridge, Mike and the Bots are standing there, around them
are a few different dictionaries.]
Mike: Oh, hi, welcome back. The bots and I were so inspired
by that last prologue that we just had to get out all
the dictionaries from storage.
Crow: Hey, look! "Crow, from ME crowe, from OE crawe!" My name
comes from Old English!
Mike: So far this isn't going to well, but it was better than
the host segment idea that Tom came up with.
Tom: Ohh, Servo comes from Servomotor and the latin Servus
meaning...SLAVE?!?
Crow: Mike...hmm, no etymology, but you are the communication
code for the letter M.
Tom: Slave? Is that all I am to you Mike?
Mike: No, wait, come on!
Tom: Why don't I just go fetch your SLIPPERS for you Mike, or
should I say "Master."
Crow: Torgo, derived from the movie Manos. Who knew!
Mike: I don't think so, here, let me see that?
Tom: Don't try to change the subject, orgoboy!
Mike: Tom, I didn't name you! Anyway, a servomechanism is just
a generic term for a robot.
Tom: So, generic now am I?
Crow: Think fast there, Mike.
Mike: Um, er, well...
[Lights flash]
Mike: Thank goodness...WE HAVE LOOMINGS SIGN!
[Chaos, and the door sequence]
Tom: Oh, so I shall serve thee by going to the theater now, if
that PLEASES you.
[6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... ...]
Mike: Feeling a bit calmer now, Tom.
Tom: Would that be UNCLE Tom perhaps.
Mike: Sigh...
>Chapter I
Crow: Oh yes, "I, I, I" this is all about YOU, isn't it?!
>Loomings
>
>Call me Ishmael.
Crow: See, me me me, this is the single most selfish chapter
I have ever read!
>
>Some years ago-
Mike: I was a woman.
> never mind how long precisely-
Tom: Cause I can't remember, I was drunk for most of the time
you must remember.
>having little or no money in my purse,
Crow: If he resorts to prostitution, I walk out right now!
> and nothing particular to
>interest me on shore,
Mike: Except for Windows Solitaire, Ha ha, that thing can keep
me occupied for HOURS!
Tom: OK, Mike, I'm afraid that joke crossed the line into a
bit frightening.
> I thought I would sail
Tom: [Singing] Away...
Crow: Dammit! Chartacourseforthevirginsea....
> about a little and
>see the watery part of the world.
Mike: But it turns out it look pretty much the same as it does
on land.
> It is a way I have of driving
>off the spleen
Bots: EWWW!
Mike: I would have to believe that is not the best of ideas I
have ever heard...
> and regulating the circulation.
Tom: [German] For wen ze cirkulation vill not listen to
auTORity, it vill av to be REGUlated!
> Whenever I find
>myself growing grim about the mouth;
Mike: They're called whiskers, and all you have to do is shave
them off!
> whenever it is a damp,
Crow: Which, at sea, is quite often.
>drizzly November in my soul;
Tom: Oh, so he's a winter, that would explain those drab colors
he keeps wearing!
> whenever I find myself
Mike: Fantasizing of feta cheese and Ringo Starr.
>involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses,
Crow: You know, I think that's rather morbid.
Tom: Well, as long as he isn't ogling the inhabitants.
Mike: OK, I think we need to stop this line of thought.
> and bringing up
Mike: Pointless anecdotes like these.
>the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my
>hypos
Tom: Star Trek crossover, didn't see that coming.
> get such an upper hand of me,
Crow: Eight, nine, ten! And Ishmael is out, the new champion
is the HYPOS!
> that it requires a strong
Mike: Stomach, much like reading this book.
>moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into
>the street,
Crow: Fight that urge!
All: Step out, STEP OUT!
> and methodically knocking people's hats off-
Tom: Well, yes, I can see how that urge might strike you.
> then, I
>account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
Mike: If you hurry up and go, do we have to keep listening to
you?
> This is my
>substitute for
Crow: Eggs, I call it Eggstitute!
Mike: I don't think those are too original.
> pistol and ball.
Tom: No, please, go right ahead.
All: Do the deed! Do the deed!
> With a philosophical flourish
Crow: That's how Freud ended all his presentations.
>Cato
Tom: Kailynn?
Mike: No, he's that guy from the Pink Panther movies?
Crow: So, Ishmael's going to get beaten up.
Mike: Let's hope.
> throws himself upon his sword;
Tom: This guy has all SORTS of great ideas.
Mike: He knows 50 ways to kill a man...unfortunately, that man
is himself.
> I quietly take to the ship.
>There is nothing surprising in this.
Crow: No, but there is something surprising in this.
[Crow waves an arm, and rainbow paint rolls down the book, then
seeps off, leaving only the clean page and words]
Mike: How the hell did you do that?
> If they but knew it,
Crow: Knew what?
Tom: Guess he's right.
> almost
>all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly
>the same feelings towards the ocean with me.
Mike: Hey, man, I ain't cherishing ANY feelings with you!
>
>There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes,
Crow: Though most put hats on the HEAD.
> belted round
Tom: Oh, this could get disturbing.
>by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs-
Mike: They say that if you give infinite monkeys infinite
typewriters and infinite times, they will eventually type
out the works of Shakespeare. I have a feeling, though
that this was one of their earlier drafts.
> commerce surrounds it
>with her surf.
Tom: But no one HERE knows anything about serfs or slaves...
Mike: *sigh*
> Right and left, the streets take you waterward.
Crow: I thought they all went to Rome.
>Its extreme downtown is the battery,
Tom: Oh yes, let's start mixing electricity and water.
> where that noble mole
Mike: Cindy Crawford's mole? Siiiiigh....
Tom: Mike?
[pause]
Crow: Mike?
[pause]
Tom: Ok, Mike, back to the world of the living.
Mike: Wha, huh, where was I?
> is
>washed by waves, and cooled by breezes,
Mike: Yeah, cold water, that sounds like a sorry excuse.
Crow: So you've used that one?
> which a few hours
>previous were out of sight of land.
Tom: Out of sight, out of mind.
Mike: Worth a try.
> Look at the crowds of
>water-gazers there.
Tom: Nope, it's still here.
>
>Circumambulate
Crow: Ill discombobulate the fool!
> the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon.
[Mike starts humming Pleasant Valley Sunday]
> Go from
>Corlears Hook to Coenties Slip,
Tom: Sounds very *yawn* interesting.
> and from thence, by Whitehall,
>northward.
Crow: To the frozen land of Nadore.
> What do you see?-
Mike: It's a giant butterfly playing tetherball with the
Grimm Reaper.
> Posted like silent sentinels
Tom: To be contrasted to the mind-numbing ramblings of the
narrator.
> all
>around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men
Crow: Ah yes, and let us talk about each and every one of them
Mike: Don't tempt him.
>fixed in ocean reveries. Some leaning against the spiles;
Tom: Drunk off their gourd.
> some
>seated upon the pier-heads;
Crow: As the booze flies through their system
> some looking over the bulwarks
Mike: Seasick
> of
>ships from China;
Tom: They always have junkie vessels.
> some high
Mike: Tsk, tsk, that is just disgraceful.
> aloft in the rigging,
Crow: [pirate] Danglin' from the nearest yardarm!
> as if striving
>to get a still better seaward peep.
Tom: Those small, sugar covered marshmallow chicks are more
popular than I thought.
> But these are all landsmen;
Mike: Thank you Mr. Ishmael-career-sailor!
Tom: I'm beginning to agree with Crow that this guy is rather
self-centered.
>of week days pent up in lath and plaster- tied to counters,
Crow: That's a bit kinky.
>nailed to benches,
All: OWW!
> clinched to desks.
Tom: So we're establishing a thread of masochism.
> How then is this?
Mike: Magic.
> Are the
>green fields gone?
Tom: Yes.
> What do they here?
Crow: If you have to ask...
>
>But look!
Mike: AHH!
Tom: WHERE!
Crow: Save me!
> here come more crowds,
[All begin to look around frantically as Gypsy and silhouettes
that look like the mads walk in.]
Mike: I don't think he meant y'all!
Gypsy: Oh.
Bobo: Sorry
Obs.: We'll be going now.
[They all file back out]
> pacing straight for the water,
[There is splashing heard]
Mike: I think this is getting a bit off the beaten path of
our M.O.
>and seemingly bound for a dive.
Tom: [Whispering] And the plucky diver from the small republic
of Sulkilodevkia is going to try a double backwards
somersault.
[All follow an imaginary spot from top of the screen to the level
of the seats, then cringe]
All: Ohhh...
Tom: A belly-flop, that will cost her points...
> Strange!
Crow: Back a'cha, bub.
> Nothing will content
>them but the extremest limit of the land;
All: [grunt/yell mix] EXTREEEEME!
> loitering
Mike: None of that, now!
> under the
>shady lee of yonder warehouses
Tom: And yon book depository.
Mike: [Kevin Costner] Down and to the left. Down and to the
left...
> will not suffice. No.
Crow: Yes.
Tom: No.
Crow: Yes!
Tom: No!
Crow: YES!
Tom: NO!
Mike: Give it a rest, you two.
> They must
>get just as nigh the water as they possibly can
Mike: And then dart back from it, scared like little girly-
men.
> without falling
>And there they stand- miles of them- leagues.
Tom: Yards
Mike: Cubits
Crow: Furlongs.
> Inlanders all,
>they come from lanes and alleys,
Crow: Avid bowlers.
> streets avenues- north, east,
>south, and west.
Mike: The room is made of stone, and is very murky. In one
corner there is a chest. It is locked.
Tom: Use key chest.
> Yet here they all unite.
Crow: And then everything just goes to hell.
> Tell me, does the
>magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those
>ships attract them thither?
[Tom shakes his head, Mike looks in the top of it]
Mike: Answer uncertain, ask again later.
>
>Once more.
[Tom shakes his head again, Mike reads]
Mike: No.
> Say you are in the country;
All: [monotone] You are in the country.
> in some high land of
>lakes.
Mike: In other words: Minnesota.
> Take almost any path you please,
Crow: Take my path, please.
> and ten to one it
>carries you down
Tom: To the fiery depths of hell.
> in a dale, and leaves you there
Crow: All alone, as the sounds of the forest come in around
you, as though to consume you!
> by a pool
Mike: That shall be closed, with algae floating in the water.
> in
>the stream. There is magic in it.
Tom: Penn and Teller will do their show anywhere.
> Let the most absent-minded of
>men be
Crow: Be...be, ah...what was I talking about?
> plunged in his deepest reveries-
Mike: And shallow Calls to the Flag.
> stand that man on his
>legs,
Tom: Well, that is the traditional way to go about it.
> set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly
Crow: Fall flat on his back.
> lead you to
>water,
Mike: Yeah, but I challenge you to make me drink!
> if water there be in all that region.
Crow: And the author cops out beautifully!
> Should you ever be
>athirst
Tom: I don't see what a denial of the existence of God has to
do with this.
> in the great American desert, try this experiment,
Mike: Get three paper cups, a quantity of salt, some Magnesium,
and some small toothpicks...
> if
>your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical
>professor.
Tom: Then you need to talk to you caravan planner.
Mike: Well, what caravan DOESN'T have a metaphysical professor.
Crow: You know, the Donner Party didn't have one, and look what
happened to THEM.
Tom: EXACTLY! Remember to ALWAYS make sure you caravan is
equipped with all necessary metaphysical needs.
Mike: This message paid for by the Metaphysical Professors'
Board.
> Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are
>wedded for ever.
Crow: Are they?
>
>But here is an artist.
Tom: Where?
> He desires to paint you
Crow: Naked.
Mike: No thanks.
> the dreamiest,
Tom: [Singing] The impossible dream.
>shadiest,
Mike: Characters
Crow: Dr.F?
> quietest,
Tom: What?
> most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in
>all the valley of the Saco.
Crow: You saco pervert!
> What is the chief element he
>employs?
Mike: Ytterbium
> There stand his trees,
Crow: Huh? Where?
Tom: This is confusing.
> each with a hollow trunk, as if
>a hermit and a crucifix
Mike: Line on the left, one cross each.
> were within; and here sleeps his
Tom: Lazy, good-for-nothing son.
Crow: [Yiddish] Sheesh, why can't he get a job or sumthing.
> meadow,
>and there sleep his cattle;
Tom: SLEEEEEEEP!
> and up from yonder cottage
Mike: "yonder cottage?"
Crow: Just when I think this can't get odder.
> goes a
>sleepy smoke.
Tom: And some nice docile lung cancer.
Mike: Nice little public service, Tom.
> Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way,
Crow: Ack, I can't stand the poetic prose!
Tom: The pain! THE PAIN!
>reaching to overlapping spurs
Tom: This is getting scary Mike...I don't think I'm gonna
make it.
Mike: That's OK, we survived the quotes, we can survive this.
Tom: If I recall, my head blew up twice in the quotes.
> of mountains bathed in their
>hill-side blue.
Crow: Ah, classic crime drama!
Mike: I think that was "street" not "side."
> But though the picture lies
Tom: You can't never trust them pictures, you know.
> thus tranced,
Tom: SLEEEEEEEP!
> and
>though this pine-tree shakes
Crow: ...it...
> down
Mike: WHOOO!
> its sighs like leaves upon
>this shepherd's head, yet all were vain,
Tom: Touting themselves, and always no more than three
movements away from a brush or mirror.
> unless the shepherd's
>eye were fixed
Crow: Through the same, unexplained miracles that fixed Geordie's
eyes in each of the movies?
> upon the magic stream
All: Ohhhhh....ahhhh.....
> before him. Go visit the
Crow: Head.
>Prairies in June, when for scores on scores
Mike: WHALES WIN THE PENNANT! WHALES WIN THE PENNANT!
> of miles you wade
Tom: Through the fields of the dead.
Mike: Dark.
>knee-deep among Tiger-lilies-
Crow: Peter Pan crossover, curiouser and curiouser.
> what is the one charm wanting?-
Mike: A nice pewter bracelet?
Tom: The blue moons and the green clovers?
Crow: In this bit, the charm is DEFINATELY wanting!
>Water-
All: Ohhhhhh
> there is not a drop of water there!
Tom: I'm lost, weren't we talking about the ocean?
Mike: Well, we've had light rain this year.
> Were Niagara but a
>cataract of sand, would you travel your thousand miles to see
>it?
Crow: YES! No, wait, NO! Wait, no, could you repeat the question?
> Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving
>two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy him a coat,
Tom: Who? These pronouns are going to kill me yet!
>which he sadly needed,
Tom: Does that mean he DIDN'T need it? Throw me a bone!
> or invest his money in a pedestrian trip
>to Rockaway Beach?
Mike: Which, one would assume, would be warm enough he doesn't
need the coat, so it really solves both problems.
> Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a
>robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to
>sea?
Crow: And do any of us REALLY want to know the answer to that
question?
> Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself
>feel such a mystical vibration,
Tom: Well, I did, but then the first mate told me not to mention
it when we got ashore.
Mike: Um, thank you for that image, Tom.
> when first told that you and
>your ship were now out of sight of land?
Crow: And that your next of gin was already cashing in the
inheritance.
> Why did the old
>Persians hold the sea holy?
Tom: And why are there now no more old Persians?
Mike: Lemmings.
> Why did the Greeks give it a
>separate deity, and own brother of Jove?
Crow: Come on, the Greeks gave everything its own deity, and
most of them were related to Jove in all his trysts.
> Surely all this is not
>without meaning.
Tom: In contrast to this chapter.
> And still deeper the meaning of that story of
>Narcissus, who because he could not grasp
Crow: Well that is a problem.
> the tormenting, mild
>image he saw in the fountain,
Mike: Yes, I'm often tormented by mildness.
> plunged into it and was drowned.
Tom: Getting any ideas here, Ishmael?
Crow: Yup, just another way for him to kill himself.
Mike: Well, you know how it was with these old literaries.
>But that same image, we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans.
Tom: And bathtubs, and sinks, and stagnant ponds, and swimming
pools...
>It is the image of the ungraspable phantom of life;
Mike: [singing] He's here, the Phantom of Li-IFE!
> and this is
>the key to it all.
Tom: Was it just me, or was that a hell of a long paragraph?
Mike: I think it was, I didn't notice.
>
>Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever
Crow: Yea, yea, whenever you knock off peoples' hats.
>I begin to grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over
>conscious of my lungs,
Mike: Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, inhale...DAMN!
> I do not mean to have it inferred that I
>ever go to sea as a passenger.
Tom: Usually people lash me up, and I'm used as the raft.
Crow: As long as he's face down, I'm game to try that.
> For to go as a passenger you must
>needs have a purse,
Mike: I don't think it's too wise for a man to carry a purse to
sea.
> and a purse is but a rag unless you have
>something in it.
Tom: A few choices of lipstick, a compact, a change purse, a
small wallet, and 50,000 Kleenex.
> Besides, passengers get sea-sick-
Crow: Especially when I'm around for some reason...
> grow
>quarrelsome- don't sleep of nights- do not enjoy themselves
>much,
Mike: I don't think we need a comment there, Crow.
> as a general thing;- no, I never go as a passenger;
Tom: Yes, Mr. High-and-mighty could NEVER stoop so low as to
go as a lowly passenger.
> nor,
>though I am something of a salt,
Mike: That's what you get for looking back upon Gomorrah!
> do I ever go to sea as a
>Commodore, or a Captain, or a Cook.
Crow: Gee, a cook, that's at least as glamorous as commanding
a ship, eh?
> I abandon the glory and
>distinction of such offices to those who like them.
Tom: Oh what, Mr Almighty-narrator can't handle a bit of power?
> For my part,
Mike: Usually down the center.
>I abominate all honorable respectable toils, trials, and
>tribulations
Crow: Tribble-ations?
Tom: Tubby-lations?
Mike: Huh?
> of every kind whatsoever.
Tom: Chinese water torture?
Mike: Yup.
Crow: Having bamboo shoots inserted under your fingernails?
Mike: Yup.
Tom: Being jabbed with redhot pokers?
Mike: Yup.
Crow: Having your head slowly twisted around, while your arms are
being pulled different directions by two large yaks who
have not been bathed in four weeks.
Mike: OK, Well maybe not EVERY kind of toil and trial.
> It is quite as much as I
>can do to take care of myself,
Tom: I don't know, I picture him as having to have his clothes
laid out for him every morning.
> without taking care of ships,
>barques,
Mike: got BITE!
> brigs, schooners, and what not.
Crow: Though what's are much more likely.
> And as for going as
>cook,- though I confess there is considerable glory in that,
Tom: Well I'll be!
> a
>cook being a sort of officer on ship-board- yet, somehow, I
>never fancied broiling fowls;-
Mike: Ah good, the early literary evidence of the "wink" emoticon.
> though once broiled, judiciously
>buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered,
Tom: And lovingly coated with lark's vomit.
> there is no one
>who will speak more respectfully, not to say reverentially, of a
>broiled fowl than I will.
Crow: In fact, expect me to devote three or four chapters to it
later on.
> It is out of the idolatrous dotings of
>the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis
Tom: Wasn't Ibis an Egyptian god?
Mike: Yeah...that would be like a Hindu eating a hamburger.
> and roasted river horse,
All: Mmmmm!
Crow: [Creole] That there's fine eating, I gae-run-TEE
>that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge
>bakehouses the pyramids.
Tom: Oh, so they were giant pizza brick ovens, that explains
everything. See, the aliens are rather big, and needed
some extra large pizzas...or not.
>
>No,
Crow: Yes!
Mike: Maybe.
> when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the
>mast,
Tom: Hanging from the yardarm.
> plumb down into the fore-castle, aloft there to the royal
>mast-head.
Mike: Cause my goodness if they had just an everyday mast-head.
> True, they rather order me about some,
Crow: Though I assume they are just joking around when they tell
me to take a flying leap from the crow's nest.
> and make me
>jump from spar to spar, like a grasshopper in a May meadow.
Tom: And it's so cute when they grease the spars closest to the
edge of the boat.
> And
>at first, this sort of thing is unpleasant enough.
Mike: But I get used to the murder attempts easily enough.
> It touches
>one's sense of honor,
Tom: [British falsetto] Oh, I like that.
> particularly if you come of an old
>established family in the land,
Crow: Then you should stop exhuming graves.
> the Van Rensselaers, or
>Randolphs, or Hardicanutes.
Mike: Of course NONE of whom I have heard of.
> And more than all, if just previous
>to putting your hand into the tar-pot,
Tom: After which we will cover you with feathers, and pour
scalding hot tea down your throat.
> you have been lording it
>as a country schoolmaster,
Crow: I won't ask what "lording it" means.
[Mike sighs, then grabs a book from under his seat]
Mike: To clarify "Acting as a little or insignificant lord."
> making the tallest boys stand in awe
>of you.
Crow: Are you SURE about that definition?
Mike: [Coughs a bit] It's what Mr. Webster says!
> The transition is a keen one, I assure you, from a
>schoolmaster to a sailor,
Tom: Mike, this is scaring me! And I think it's scarring me
as well.
Mike: It's OK, everything will be alright.
> and requires a strong decoction of
>Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear it.
Crow: Or bare it, and grin!
Mike: CROW!
> But
>even this wears off in time.
Tom: Oh thank goodness!
>
>What of it,
Crow: Huh? Ya wanna make somethin' of it!
> if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get
>a broom and sweep down the decks?
Tom: Or to get a broom and sweep myself down.
Mike: I'm really wondering why High School can get away forcing
students to read this.
> What does that indignity
>amount to, weighed,
Mike: 3 to 4 ounces.
Tom: No, I think that's the human soul.
Mike: Oh yeah.
> I mean, in the scales of the New Testament?
Crow: Oh, then 3 to 4 stones.
>Do you think the archangel Gabriel thinks anything the less of
>me,
Tom: Well, you might want to hope he doesn't get wind of this
book.
> because I promptly and respectfully obey that old hunks in
>that particular instance?
Crow: Old hunks?
Mike: Sure. Patrick Stewart, Sean Connery, all of them.
> Who ain't a slave?
Crow: Me.
Mike: Me.
Tom: I am...
Mike: Let it GO!
> Tell me that.
All: That.
Mike: Seems too easy.
> Well,
>then, however the old sea-captains may order me about-
Tom: And I might actually start to like it, dammit.
> however
>they may thump and punch me about,
Crow: And I will definitely like that!
> I have the satisfaction of
>knowing that it is all right;
Mike: Song cue?
Tom: Fight it.
> that everybody else is one way or
>other served in much the same way-
Crow: Lightly grilled with a white wine sauce.
> either in a physical or
>metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump
>is passed round,
Tom: Make this end, it just gets worse.
> and all hands should rub each other's
Mike: Please no, please no...
>shoulder-blades, and be content.
Mike: That was too close.
>
>Again, I always go to sea as a sailor,
Crow: Again, isn't that sort of a given?
> because they make a point
>of paying me for my trouble,
Tom: We can hope so.
> whereas they never pay passengers a
>single penny that I ever heard of.
Crow: Oh, I think I get it!
Mike: You do?
Crow: YEAH!
Mike: I think you've been in here too long.
> On the contrary, passengers
>themselves must pay.
Tom: And oh yes, they shall pay! MUAHAHAHAHA!
Mike: Are you alright?
Tom: No worse off than sailor boy.
Crow: [Singing softly] What do ya do with a drunken sailor...
Mike: This needs to end FAST!
> And there is all the difference in the
>world between paying and being paid.
Tom: A world of difference between being bumped off, and getting
payback...
Crow: Mike, shouldn't I be manning the bilge pumps now?
> The act of paying is
Mike: Going to generate at least 6 more lines of text...
>perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two orchard
>thieves entailed upon us.
Crow: [Snapping briefly out of it] orchard thieves?
Mike: I think he means Adam and Eve.
Crow: Ahh, those scalawags.
Mike: *sigh*
> But being paid,- what will compare
>with it?
Mike: I wouldn't know...it's been awhile.
> The urbane activity with which a man receives money is
>really marvellous,
Tom: It's better than sex.
Mike: Tom?
Tom: Oh, sorry.
> considering that we so earnestly believe
>money to be the root of all earthly ills,
Crow: Theft?
Mike: Yup.
Tom: Prostitution?
Mike: Yup.
Crow: Cholera?
Mike: Ok, maybe not ALL earthly ills...
> and that on no account
>can a monied man enter heaven.
Tom: Does Bill Gates know this?
Crow: Way, hey, blow the man down.
Mike: Did he ever do this before I got here?
Tom: Not to this extent.
Crow: Belay that talk, me maties!
> Ah! how cheerfully we consign
>ourselves to perdition!
Tom: Umm...
Mike: Yyyyes...
>
>Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor,
Tom: Yes, you established that.
> because of the
>wholesome exercise and pure air of the fore-castle deck.
Crow: Ah yes, then there is the gentle chill of serving crow's
nest duty at night.
> For as
>in this world, head winds are far more prevalent than winds from
>astern (that is, if you never violate the Pythagorean maxim),
Tom: Yes, but if you do create a triangle that has a hypotenuse
with a square not equal to the squares of the other two
sides, you will be dealt with severely!
> so
>for the most part the Commodore
Mike: Is almost completely out of the home video game market.
> on the quarter-deck gets his
>atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the forecastle.
Tom: So the only air he gets is what the sailors exhale?
Crow: And, of course, the captain gets most of his atmosphere
from the steersman on duty.
> He
>thinks he breathes it first; but not so.
Mike: But then he will just be breathing Carbon Dioxide, and will
so die of CO2 poisoning.
> In much the same way do
>the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things,
Tom: So if the followers lead, the leaders will follow.
Mike: Profound, but unoriginal.
Crow: Yes, and ye shall be scrubbing the desk if ye should do
that again!
> at the
>same time that the leaders little suspect it.
Mike: They're rather slow that way.
Crow: Sounds like mutinous talk!
> But wherefore it
>was that after having repeatedly smelt the sea
Crow: Tis the salty aroma that one cannot get out of your head.
Mike: But you've never been to the sea.
Crow: Sure I have!
Tom: Let him Mike, we can do something later.
> as a merchant
>sailor,
Crow: No! Speak to me not of the merchant fleet!
> I should now take it into my head to go on a whaling
>voyage;
Tom: Yes, please, get on with it!
> this the invisible police officer of the Fates,
Mike: All right, pull it over. Sir, is there any reason you
are progressing this story 15 MPH under the limit?
> who has
>the constant surveillance of me,
Tom: I'd guess the New York city library system.
> and secretly dogs me,
Mike: Then return those books!
> and
>influences me in some unaccountable way-
Tom: They stole his dog.
Crow: They bored holes into his life bouy.
> he can better answer
>than any one else.
Mike: Then why isn't he writing this.
Crow: You need to not criticize our fellow mariner.
> And, doubtless, my going on this whaling
>voyage,
Tom: Eventually, after I have finished boring everyone.
> formed part of the grand programme of Providence that
>was drawn up a long time ago.
Mike: Though not quite as long ago as when we started reading
this.
> It came in as a sort of brief
>interlude and solo between more extensive performances.
Tom: If he starts singing My Way, I leave!
Mike: I don't even think Pearl could fault us that.
> I take
>it that this part of the bill must have run something like this:
>
>"Grand Contested Election
>for the Presidency of the United States."
Crow: Dewey defeats Truman!
>
>"Whaling voyage by one Ishmael."
Mike: Two Ishmael.
Crow: Red Ishmael.
Tom: Blue Ishmael.
>
>"Bloody battle in Afghanistan."
Tom: 20 blankets killed.
>
>Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage
>managers, the Fates,
Mike: Though I will tell you every damned metaphor for The
Fates I can come up with.
> put me down for this shabby part of a
>whaling voyage,
Tom: Punishment for bad karma.
Crow: Now now, a whaling voyage is one of the greatest karma
boosting experiences I have partaken in.
> when others were set down for magnificent parts
>in high tragedies,
Mike: [Ishmael] Someone decided I should play the court jester.
> and short and easy parts in genteel comedies,
Crow: Nope, nothing short about this.
Mike: Not all too sweet either.
Crow: Hey, any sailing story is worthy of being told.
Tom: I certainly hope we can fix him.
>and jolly parts in farces- though I cannot tell why this was
>exactly;
Mike: Yes, many of us are still reeling over Pauly Shore.
> yet, now that I recall all the circumstances,
Tom: I realize that I shouldn't have mixed the vodka with the
Jack Daniels.
> I think I
>can see a little into the springs and motives which being
>cunningly presented to me under various disguises,
Mike: Though it's probably just the Tequila talkin'
> induced me to
>set about performing the part I did,
Tom: So he got into performance art?
> besides cajoling me into
>the delusion that it was a choice resulting from my own unbiased
>freewill and discriminating judgment.
Mike: Yup, that is definitely the ole worm influencing his mind.
Crow: Or that exhilaration from smelling the lovely boutique of the
brine.
>
>Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great
>whale himself.
Tom: Hey, didn't he steal that line from Sherlock Holmes?
> Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused
>all my curiosity.
Crow: And that's not all...
Mike: Crow!
Tom: No, wait, I think this is our Crow trying to reach out from
whatever is possessing him! Come on, pal, fight it!
> Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled
>his island bulk;
Crow: Saaaay...
Tom: Fight it, that's it!
Mike: Are you sure we should encourage this?
> the undeliverable, nameless perils of the
>whale;
Tom: Actually, it's just embarrassed of its real name, Percy
Trouncewater IV.
> these, with all the attending marvels of a thousand
>Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to my wish.
Mike: [childish voice] for a PONY!
> With
>other men, perhaps,
Crow: Oh no, we've almost made it, don't turn slash!
Mike: Yup, I think we've got our old Crow back.
> such things would not have been inducements;
>but as for me,
Tom: Give me liberty or give me death!
Mike: Wrong work.
> I am tormented with an everlasting itch for
>things remote.
Crow: Some Gold Bond will work on that.
> I love to sail forbidden seas,
Tom: Boldly going where no man has gone before!
> and land on
>barbarous coasts.
Crow: So that's what they call it in nautical terms. Tis a fine
diversion, though, after months at sea.
Mike: And we lost him again.
> Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to
>perceive a horror,
Tom: And burn this manuscript right now!
> and could still be social with it-
Mike: And introduce the horror to my wife and kids.
> would they
>let me- since it is but well to be on friendly terms with all
>the inmates of the place one lodges in.
Tom: Yes, and that takes on new meanings once those jail bars
close!
>
>By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome;
Mike: To all, but the readers.
Crow: Belay, I think ye should not speak down on a whaling voyage
until ye have gone on one.
>the great flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open,
Tom: There is a prize to anyone that can figure out what
controlled substance or substances Ishmael is on at any one
point in the story.
> and in the
>wild conceits that swayed me to my purpose,
Mike: Becoming the world's greatest tenor!
> two and two there
>floated into my inmost soul, endless processions of the whale,
Tom: Endless processions of this book is more like it.
Mike: This is just the first chapter...there are over 140 more!
Tom: YAAAA!
>and, mid most of them all, one grand hooded phantom, like a snow
>hill in the air.
Mike: Anyway, let's get Crow out of here and see what can be done.
>
[They file out of the theater]
>
[1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... ...]
[SoL bridge. Crow is standing alone on the bridge, holding a
rather large harpoon. He is mumbling old sea tales to
himself. The camera then pans to the side of the bridge,
where Mike and Tom are conversing]
Mike: OK, so how do we fix him?
Tom: Clown hammer?
Mike: Will that work?
Tom: Who cares, violent sight gags are fun!
[Tom glides off screen, and Mike walks over to Crow]
Crow: So then the first mate tells me to...oh, hi Cap'n.
Mike: Belay that standing about, hearty, and lower away, we have
whales to catch!
[Crow looks briefly confused, Cambot zooms out a little, a mallet
hits Crow in the head, then Cambot zooms back in]
Crow: What the hell?
Mike: Tom! I think it worked!
Crow: Cool, when did I get my harpoon back!
[Crow wanders off, Tom wanders of, mads light flashes]
Mike: Yes, Pearl?
[Widowmaker, there is somehow a delivery boy standing outside]
Boy: Thanks a lot ma'am [scoots off]
Bobo: Oh boy, I can't wait to open it!
Pearl: Good news, Neilsmith! My shipment from the Internet Crap of
the Month Club has arrived, so we can get back to our
regularly scheduled programming.
[SoL]
Mike: We're actually cutting Moby Dick short?
Bots: YEAH!
[WM]
Pearl: I prefer to think of it as saving the rest of Moby Dick for
when I am in a really evil mood. So beware Neilsmith! HAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Boys: HAHAHA!
Pearl: Shut up!
[Episode fades out on pearl laughing as menacingly as she can]
----------\\\\\\\\\\||||||||||//////////----------
Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its related characters and situations are
trademarks of and (c) 1994 by Best Brains, Inc. All rights reserved. MiSTing
by David Thurston, and done originally on the week of Spring Break, 1999.
Yup, while everyone else was enjoying the beach, and endless parades of
buxom coeds in wet T-shirt contests, I was sitting at my laptop in northern
Virginia and doing this. Sad, huh?
Moby Dick transcript is from http://voldie.rinet.ru/mobydick/index.html.
Any typographical errors have been left, not knowing whether they
belong to the original text or to the feed of it into the computer.
Moby Dick originally published before the Civil War...wow, and no one
thought of doing this to it until now. I guess I'm some kind of
visionary!
Newsreel at the beginning of Part Two is based on actual events at Wake
Forest, but does not represent an actual broadcast of the event, and is
solely the creation of the author. All I can say is I am glad I was not one
of those who spent two days lounging on the quad trying to read this damned
thing. It's not that the book is long, but the detail that it goes into
makes it a bit difficult at times.
Apologies to an and every English teacher who has ever taught this book,
claiming it as the absolute pinnacle of English Lit. I do not mean to
undermine the teaching of the book through this MiSTing, but rather create
just a little bit of commentary on what is considered by some the Great
American Novel.
Use of Copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment purposes
only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trademarks held by Best
Brains, Inc. is intended or should be inferred. BBI has done a wonderful
job these past 10 years, and I hope to see more in the future, but three
cheers to BBI, and three jeers to SciFi channel!
----------//////////||||||||||\\\\\\\\----------
>Call me Ishmael.
Twaing!